IPS 3531 
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11919 

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PRESS OF 

THE HANSEN COMPANY 

SAN FRANCISCO 



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HILL TRAILS 
& OPEN SKY 

A BOOK OF CALIFORNIA VERSE 

By HARRY NOYES PRATT 

AUTHOR OF 
"MOTHER OF MINE" 



1919 

HARR WAGNER PUBLISHING CO. 

SAN FRANCISCO 

CALIFORNIA 



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Copyright 1919 

by 

Harry Noyes Pratt 




©CI.A561093 






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Index 

Page 

Adventure 47 

Arden 89 

Artist, The 59 

Awake 42 

Back Again 67 

Bells, Three 84 

Between the Lines 81 

Broken Seal, The 34 

California 2 

Christ Walks with Me 97 

Coolbrith, Ina Donna 30 

Dawn 94 

Derelict 64 

Des' a-Waitin' 38 

Dressed Up 95 

End and the Goal, The 20 

Fleet, The QS 

Flowers 21 

Forgotten 82 

Glade Where Violets Grow, A 55 

God's Harvest 32 

God's Way 25 

Golden Quest, The 65 

Good Night 27 

Gypsying 5 

Hill Trails 3 

Home! Come Home! 85 

How Queer 46 

Hushabve Sea 74 



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Page 

Into the West 98 

Isle of Dreams 44 

It Is Not True 58 

Joaquin Miller 28 

Kiss, The 61 

Lafayette Square 33 

Life in Death 25 

Low Tide 31 

Lullaby-o, By-o Babe 90 

Measure, The 75 

Mighels, Ella Sterling 17 

Miller, Joaquin 28 

Miser, The 83 

Mother 43 

Mother of Mine 76 

My Creed 79 

My Mother's Chair 6Q 

My Mother's Garden 40 

My Roseleaf Wish 8 

My Very Dear 10 

Nita 19 

November Streets 23 

Old Man Wintah 54 

Open Road, The 52 

Overseas 96 

Pals of the Road 48 

Parker, Warren D 88 

Patchwork Square, The 56 

Popple Fairy, The 62 

Portsmouth Square 92 



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Page 

Presence 63 

Purple Meadows of Delight 50 

Rainy Day, A 60 

Roosevelt, Theodore 14 

Sabbath Morn 22 

Seagulls' Parade, The 91 

Ship o' Dreams 16 

Sin, the Beggar 77 

Six Seagulls Fly 71 

Sleeping 86 

Solano's Hills 6 

Spring Incense 93 

Street Walker, The 57 

Stuart, J. E 24 

Telegraph Hill 78 

Theodore Roosevelt 14 

They Shall Say 80 

Trail Into the Berkeley Hills, The 72 

Treasure 4 

Unforgotten, The 29 

Weary Quest, The 26 

When the Hills Are Showing Brown 12 

White, Josephine Swan 35 

Wild Sea Calls, The 15 

Wild Way Camp, A 18 

Woo-oo-oo 9 

Worms 36 




■■■■■■ 



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Foreword 

To the little mother whose stead- 
fast love and unflinching courage en- 
abled me to bring forth my first vol- 
ume of verse, "Mother of Mine," I owe 
more than I can ever repay. And to 
that other mother whose high hills 
and broad valleys have given me shel- 
ter and inspiration, I owe much. 

May "Hill Trails," with its unpre- 
tentious verse, convey some little of 
the affection and loyalty I hold for 
my foster-mother, California. 

HARRY NOYES PRATT. 

September 18, 1919. 









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To California 

<ZMaker of men! (jreat ^Mother, holding close 

to thy breast 
oAlien and son together, nor loving the one 

the best. 

(jiving of inspiration, yielding of strength and 

power; 
Wringing the seed of (jod's sowing into full 

bloom and flower. 

{Mine the breath of thy nostrils and mine the 

beat of thy heart; 
Weing of thine own greatness even so small 

a part, 

G lS(p son of thy deep soil's yielding, born 'neath 

thy tender sky, 
Shall render to thee of homage or greater love 

than I. 





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iiiiiii. 





HILL TRAILS & OPEN SKY 



The Hill Trails 



Hill trails, dim trails, 

Grown with brush and fern — 
Wild trails, rough trails; 

Round each twist and turn 
Sound of falling waters, 

Wind among the pines — 
Clouds a-drifting over 

In fleecy, laughing lines. 

Wonder who has passed here 

In the long ago, 
Laughing, weeping, sighing — 

I shall never know ; 
Only know the hill trails 

As they are today — 
The makers of the hill trails 

Have long since passed away. 

Hill trails, long trails 

Leading from the past, 
Out of years of silence 

Into the silence vast. 
Who has travelled on these trails 

I shall never know — 
Only know I follow them 

Because I love them so. 










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HILL TRAILS 



Treasure 

Along the hills of Berkeley town 

Where thick the golden poppies grow, 

I watch the tiny ships go down 

And vanish through the distant Gate. 

Swift past the headlands blue they go 
To w T here the swinging seas await. 

Into the mists of open sea, 

Where keen the trade-winds salty blow— 
Unto the Orient mystery 

Of southern isles and softer days; 
Those lands which only languor know, 

Whose peoples follow easier ways. 

Out to the lands of spice and gems, 
Of flashing eyes from latticed walls 

Whose lofty bar fair treasure hems — 
Out to the sea. The vessels sail 

Into the fog whose curtain falls 
Upon the blue, a pallid veil. 

Out to the sea — and I remain, 

Romance and treasure at my hand: 

For strewn and massed on hill and plain 
Lies wealth in measure all untold — 

What need to seek the Orient land 
When here lies heaped our poppied gold. 




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Page 4 




AND OPEN SKY 



Gypsying 






Light as a fleck of foam upon a wind-sped sea 
The winds of mirth and joy are blowing me: 

I dance! I dance! 
Upon the surface of the deep and steady tide 
Of life I drift, and free and careless ride. 

I leave to chance 
The morrow's morning. What the morning 

brings 
Shall then be mine; today I heedless sing. 

Nor shall I grieve 
For grief to come, if grief indeed there be. 
Delight and song are mine, and liberty. 

I careless leave 
To those who wish, the care and toil of life, 
The dull routine, the ceaseless, selfless strife. 

To him who dares 
Is joy. And if I miss the best there be — 
If glitter, not the gold, be given me — 

Who cares ! Who cares ! 




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Page 5 



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HILL TRAILS 









Solano's Hills 

Beneath Solano's hills I stride, 
The tattered eucalypts beside — 

Along the moss-grown, battered walls 
Where chipmunks scamper to and fro 
From emerald shade to sunlight's glow 

As golden through the leaves it falls. 

The winding road invites my feet ; 
Through many a grassy byway sweet 

I follow as the moments call, 
By weathered fence and wall of stone. 
The country here seems mine alone ; 

A fairyland and mystical. 

Solano's hills of rounded green, 

The blossoming orchard vales between; 

The vernal slopes which graceful rise 
Through rags of fog; through rags that 

cling 
To wind-blown trees, and ragged fling 

Their tattered banners to the skies. 

The buckeye's silvered branches bare 
Are budding on the hillsides there 

Among the nuances of green. 
And where the trickling waters seep 
The first wee blossoms yellow peep 

Beneath the alder's tasseled screen. 






Page 6 




AND OPEN SKY 



Below, the marshes deep and wide 
Are quivering to the rising tide 

Where herons stand like sentinels. 
Midst winding waterways serene 
The placid mallards float and preen 

About their island citadels. 

Bold Nature's hand, with careless brush, 
Has flung a broad and crimson flush 

Across the wet and gleaming fen; 
A crimson stain which shades to gold 
In combinations manifold 

And then to verdant green again. 

And there, beyond, Diablo's sides 
Loom soft and blue above the tides 

Where flows the Sacramento's stream ; 
A heavenly blue, pellucid, true 
As colors which run rippling through 

A rapturous, half-forgotten dream. 

The moments call; I drift along. 
Each moment seems another song 

Sung sweeter still than was the last. 
The peach-bloom's odor spicier is 
Than fantasy of ecstasies 

Within the day-dreams of the past. 

And every footfall on the sod 
Brings closer that sweet sense of God 

Which is not found within the town. 
Solano's hills! You bring to me 
Sweet consciousness of ecstasy. 

Within your arms I find my own. 



Trtv 



Page 7 



HILL TRAILS 



My Roseleaf Wish 

I took the petal of a rose — 

A crimson rose, 

A fragrant rose, — 

I wished a wish and laid it there 

Within the curving petals rare, 

And kissed it, 

Caressed it, 

Then dropped it gently on the sea; 

It floated swift away from me. 

But where it floated no one knows : 

The tiny boat, 

My fairy boat — 

It bore my heart's wish far away, 

And what it was I'll never say ! 

My heart's wish, 

My fond wish — 

Afloat upon the ebbing tide, 

Lightly, lightly, doth it ride! 

But some day when the full tide flows^ 

A strong tide, 

A flood tide ! 

My wish will come again to me, 

Full-laden roseleaf argosy: 

Heart's treasure, 

Full measure. 

And gliding down the moonlit main 

My own shall come to me again. 



Page 8 



JUUU 



AND OPEN SKY 



"Woo-oo-oo!" 

Wind a-goin\ "Woo-oo-oo!" 
Seems des' lak it comin' thoo; 

Keep de fiah buhnin' bright — 
Suah am bittah col' tonight ! 

Seems lak kindah lonesome, too — 

Des* don't lafy to heah dat "Woo-oo-oo! 1 

Heah it goin' "Woo-oo-oo !" 
Blowin' down de oP bayou. 

Dogs come crouchin' by de fiah, 
Hunchin' up a little niah 

Des de way dey lak to do 

When de win it goin, "Woo-oo-oo!" 

Lonesome soundin', "Woo-oo-oo !" 
Comin' down de chimbley flue, 

Puffin' ashes on de floah — 
Nevah act lak dis bef oah ! 

Wondah what it tryin' to do ? 

Ghos'es, maybe, talfyin, "Woo-oo-oo!" 

Dah ! Yo' heah it ?— "Woo-oo-oo !" 

Golly! Don't lak dis nohow! 
Big dog shiv'rin' ; peahs he's skeert ; 
Ain't a-noways seemin' peert. 
I ain't skeert — but wisht I knew 
What dat blowin, "Woo-oo-oo!" 






Page 9 



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HILL TRAILS 



My Very Dear 

I whisper to you sometimes when the purple 

twilight falls ; 
I know that through the empty miles your 

heart to mine still calls. 
When the ancient stars are shining as they 

shone on us before, 
And the waves are sweeping, sullen, along 

the lonely shore, 
Then my heart goes searching for you in a 

longing all sincere, 
And I whisper in the twilight, "Oh, my dear! 

My very dear!" 

Just the words I used to whisper in those 
nights so long ago ; 

Just the few brief love words to you, but 
they speak it all, I know : 

Tell you of the bitter longing, of the empty, 
useless days, 

And my vain and idle wandering in a thou- 
sand endless ways, 

And I wonder what the end will be, yet — 
wondering — persevere 

In the hope that journey's ending may be 
you, my very dear. 






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Page 10 



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AND OPEN SKY 



Just the love name I had for you in the per- 
fumed nights agone 

When the wearied stars had twinkled out and 
rose-light came with dawn. 

When sparkling waves along the shore shone 
radiant through the mist, 

And the crimson rose's petals gleamed with 
dew your lips had kissed. 

Just the love name I had for you — close, that 
you alone might hear ! — 

In the gold-light of the dawning of the morn- 
ing, dear, my dear! 

Now the crimson rose's petals, faded, lie 

along the strands 
Where the careless waves have swept them, 

and our footprints on the sands 
Have been pressed by other footprints, left 

by many passing feet, 
And the mists of many mornings have been 

lit by dawns as sweet. 
Still the love name I had for you seems to 

bring you very near — 
Will the journey's ending bring you — back to 

me, my very dear? 






*.^»ijL«.i*.stJk i 4JlU 



HILL TRAILS 



When the Hills Are Showin' 
Brown 

Get a sort o' restless feelin' 

When the snow begins to go 
An* the grass shows on the hillsides. 

When the ice-bound brooklets flow 
Get a sort o' thinkm', somehow, 

0' the alder-bordered streams 
'Long in Junetime, an' their ripples. 

See the thousand yellow gleams 
Where the sunlight trickles, broken, 

Through the wavin' alder leaves, 
Makin' patterns on the grasses ; 

An' the grapevine twines an' weaves 
In an' out among the tree tops. 

Cottonwood an' willow, too, 
With their leaves a-dancin', wavin' — 

Seems a welcome, like, to you. 

Get a funny sort of itchin' 

To my hand — it's kind of odd — 
Like to hear the reel a-spinnin', 

Feel the bendin' of the rod; 
See the line go zippin' crossways 

Of some golden, placid pool 
An' to feel my heart go thumpin', 

Though I'm tryin' to keep cool — 
See the trout break water, gleamin', 

As he shows his speckled sides, 
Then with shake of line an' savage 

Through the startled water glides. 



Page 12 



__- 

AND OPEN SKY 



Whine of reel and splash of water 

As I reel the fighter in, 
Feelin' sort o' half -regretful 

That the old chap didn't win. 

Smell the thousand things a-growin' 

In the warm an' tender sod ; 
Know that here you're gettin' closer 

To the lovin', tender God 
Who has made the trees and flowers 

An' the birds, an' fishes, too. 
An' you feel yourself a-wingin' 

Far up there amongst the blue, 
Leavin' off, like outworn clothin', 

All the troubles of the day; 
An' the weary years are slippin' 

From your shoulders fast away. 
Feel as happy an' regardless 

As the locusts or the bees 
That are dronin', hummin', busy 

In the asters by your knees. 

Got a sort o' restless feelin' ; 

Think I'll get the old rod down 
Now the soft March breeze is blowin' 

An' the hills are showin' brown. 









Page 13 









K 



HILL TRAILS 



Theodore Roosevelt 

The greatest mortal of his time has passed. 

Beneath the snows upon the quiet knoll 

His weary body finds its peaceful goal. 
His valiant spirit lives, and in that vast 
Concord of mighty dead he finds at last 

His own. No greater name stands on the 
scroll 

Of Time than his. Beside that kindred soul 
He stands, great Lincoln, nor by him o'ercast. 

We knew his faults, yet wrote them on the 

sands, 
Remembering these, which were the man, 

alone : 
His love of country ; strength ; his vision 

wide 
And will to do. Fame ! With cunning hands 
Grave deep and sure in everlasting stone 
These words, "My country! There was 

naught beside !" 







i firariiir- 
Page 14 












The Wild Sea Calls 

When I see the great ships passing 

Down the bay to the Gate — 
When the screw-torn foam is swirling 

Where the flocking sea-gulls wait — 
When the keen, swift prow is cutting 

Clean through the heaving swell, 
And I hear the sonorous sounding 

Of the clamoring engine-bell — 
I've the call to go a-roving 

Out to the wild, wide sea; 
The sea and its mad adventure 

Is calling, calling me. 

The wild, gay sea is calling: 

Borne on the freshening wind 
Come the voices of wild sea-rovers ; 

Their urging fingers, twined 
About the heart of me, eager, 

Urge, though I say them nay. 
I long to sail by the headlands, 

Out through the Gate and away 
To the seas where romance is waiting,- 

Waiting, gay, wild and free ! — 
The sea and the wild sea-rovers 

Are calling, calling me. 








HILL TRAILS 



Ship O'Dreams 

When my Ship O'Dreams comes sailing 

Home o'er a sunlit sea, 
Will she be laden, I wonder, 

With treasure-trove for me? 
Will she be heavy with spices 

And bales of silken fold, 
Or caskets of flashing rubies 

And sea-pearls, white and cold? 

Will she proudly sail to the harbor 

With pennons flying gay 
Above the snow of her swelling sails, 

On the lift of the foaming bay? 
Will she meet the surge with disdainful prow, 

Haughtily cleaving the wave 
As she comes again, with brimming hold, 

Once more to the port which gave? 

Last night she crept to the harbor, 

Back from a pitiless sea 
Whose grasping waves and hungry crests 

She had fought so valiantly. 
Tattered of sail and broken of spar, 

Empty of hold she be, 
Yet my Ship O'Dreams is welcome home 

Since she brings you back t° me! 















Page 16 



AND OPEN SKY 



Ella Sterling Mighels 

Between the present and the past there 
stands 
A wall of bronze, and swung therein a 

door. 
Nor none may pass save those who hold 
afore 
A mystic key to break the brazen bands, 
And with the key a password which demands 
Entrance therein. But few shall hold the 

key 
And pass from now to that which used to 
be; 
And none shall hold save one who under- 
stands. 

But hers the key; ajar she holds the gate 
That we may briefly see the blossoming 

ways 
And those who walk therein who once 
were here. 
These are the makers of our golden state, 
And as Romance the vivid tale conveys, 
We hold her dearer that she holds them 
dear. 



Page 17 



. 






HILL TRAILS 




A Wild- Way Camp 

I lay last night beside the stream: 
The while the darkness grew, 

I heard the panther's eerie scream 
The startled forest through. 

The sun's last yellow finger clung 

Upon the mountain's crest, 
While lower crags their shadows flung 

Across the canyon's depth. 

Against a golden sunset sky 

The great pines stood, and black, 

A ragged army, filing by 
Along their hilltop track. 

The glowing clouds turned slow to gray, 
And diamond stars shone bright; 

The roaring river flung away 
Into mysterious night. 

The great white moon came swinging up 

To hang above the pines, 
And spill within the canyon's cup 

Its flooding, silver wines. 

The overhanging rocks, aglow, 

Reflected flickering flame 
From dying embers there below 

As eddying night winds came. 












Page 18 




AND OPEN SKY 






And close the hillsides crept, and close 
The peace which comes of God 

To him who near to Nature goes, 
And wild-way trails has trod. 



Nita 

Darkness has passed : Now comes the dawn, 
Rose-tinged, at last. The night has gone — 
Has sped away into the west, 
And tender day has come, so — rest! 




if iiinimi iiii iiimiif ii H i fi i ni ii 

Page 19 






«■ 









HILL TRAILS 



The End and the Goal 

Where is the end ? And what is the goal ? 
The reckless years have taken their toll. 
The loose, lax days when a day was a day — 
When a careless youth cleft his own free 
way, 
When the cleft wood lay where it heedless 

fell 
And we heedless knew nor heaven nor hell — 
Have taken their toll and the bloom has 

sped. 
The gold is dross, the silver is lead. 
The flower has faded. Sped are the dreams 
Of the days of delight, with their roseate 
gleams, 
And vanished the dew that lay on the rose 
In rose-morninged youth. The wild tide 
flows 
Now a somber course, unrippled, unswept, 
Where the dust of leaves lies heavy, unkept. 
Placid the river and heavy the tide; 
Never a gleam where the dead leaves ride. 
Where is the end ? And what is the goal ? 

Where is the end ? And what is the goal ? 
Not the dull, dead fen where the waters roll 
In their silent calm by the moss-grown 
trees ; 



Page 20 









AND OPEN SKY 



Not the sluggish swamp or the stagnant 
lees, 
Nor the standing still while the dead leaves 

fall 
And the harking back to our dead youth's 
call, 
But the sweeping out to the open sky 
Where the sunshine falls and the winds 
sweep by. 
Where the fruit of the flower has ripened 

and grown; 
Where fruitage is ready from seeds that were 
sown, 
And dew of the rose-leaf has fallen in 

rain — 
Where sunlight glints golden on ripening 
grain. 
Where years are at full, with no discord or 

strife — 
Where time is at full in the harvest of life — 
Here is the end. And this is the goal. 



Flowers 

I think each flower must be a thought 
Which God has given, then has brought 

And dropped upon the hills for me. 
For in each faultless bloom I see 

The colors of Heaven, and His grace 
Within each radiant, glowing face. 

How wonderful His mind must be 
To hold such lovely thoughts for me! 









Page 21 



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HILL TRAILS 



Sabbath Morn 

Soft shines the summer sun today, 

And soft the nesting bluebirds sing. 
The gentle breezes softer play 

Where honeysuckle blossoms swing 
And yield their perfume as they sway. 

A butterfly on lazy wing 
Floats gleaming in the golden air, 

Or, listless, honeyed nectar drains 
From throated blooms dependent there. 

The grass is dewy from the rains ; 
A rapturous robin flutters where 

He laves his wings, and scarcely deigns 
To move for early passerby. 

And down the quiet village street 
Into the blue of gleaming sky 

White plumes of smoke arise and meet 
To form a silvern canopy 

Above this pastoral retreat. 
While over all there broods the peace 

Of God's own day, His day of rest, 
When from our weary toil we cease — 

When from the troubles that molest 
We have this one day's sure release 

In all His beauty manifest. 










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Page 22 



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^|IIHIIHIII M""» 

AND OPEN SKY 



November Streets 

From out the south, warm, soft, but strong, 
There swept a wind, and all the day 
I watched the elm-tree branches sway 

And strew their leaves the walks along. 

All gold and green they danced and leaped, 
Until the wind, coquettish, bold, 
Had won their fancy, from their hold 

Had coaxed them, 'neath the trees had heaped 

Huge windrows deep where children played; 
Where shouting children laughed and ran, 
A roistering, boisterous caravan, 

In rustling gold to knee-deep wade. 

And where the trees before had stood 
Full-garbed in gold of autumn's dress, 
The wanton wind with soft caress 

Had robbed them of their lustihood ; 

Had stripped the slender branches bare, 
Had left them naked 'gainst the sky, 
Their stark, bare branches lifting high 

Above the dazzling thoroughfare, 

Where underfoot the glistening leaves 
A soft and gorgeous carpet made, 
All lavish to the tread was laid, 

Alone the kind that Nature weaves. 



^ i' li t »i H ! in i iii"mmi i inHi »i i»»rrn T 
Page 23 



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-immmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm 



HILL TRAILS 



J. E. Stuart 



What a wonderful dreamer the artist is 
With his dreams of the surge and the open 
sea; 
Of the rounded hills where the far mist is, 
And the flower-grown slopes with their 
harmony. 
What a wonderful thing to dream these 
dreams, 
These dreams of dawn and the dawn-lit 
sky; 
Of the mountain mists and the foaming 
streams ; 
Of the granite cliffs where the eagles fly. 



What a wonderful thing it is to bring 

These dreams into being for all to see, 
Rubbing the mystical, magical ring 

Of brush and paint and imagery, 
And bringing to being a wondrous gem 

Of the color and life of a dream dreamed 
true. 
Oh, to dream these dreams and to capture 
them! 

What a wonderful thing to dream like you ! 



.■ iinilliRltilVll'li" 



Page 24 



AND OPEN SKY 



■ 



Life in Death 

Beneath the shattered trees, and gray 

A bit of war's debris it lay, 

Half-hidden by the verdant green 
Where tender grasses grew between — 

Weathered, with eyeless sockets wide. 

But, swaying, threading slender through, 
A clump of crimson poppies grew 

Within, and — smiling — seemed to be 

Fit symbol of eternity; 
New-springing life of him who died. 



God's Way 

"Thy will be done!" How oft we say 
These words with mien resigned and sad, 

As feeling that in God's set way 
We forfeit something that we had. 

But now I know that where He leads 
Is Happiness and Peace, secure; 

He gives to each of all he needs 
From out His all-sufficient store. 

And so I say with smiling face 

And happy heart, "Thy will be done!" 

In God's own way is Happiness ; 

God leads — we find the conflict won. 



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Page 25 



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HILL TRAILS 



The Weary Quest 

From dismal swamp and sluggish stream 

The white mist wreathes, 
And in the red moon's eerie gleam 

A Something breathes. 
I see weird shapes by stream and wood, 
And where the little village stood 
I see strange forms which dance and swirl, 
Which float and hover, sway and whirl, 
And never rest. 

O'er all of devastated France 
I've seen these shapes uncanny dance — 
On Flemish swamp and Belgian plain, 
In winter's snow and summer's rain — 
In weary quest. 

They are the spirits of the dead, 

By men-beasts slain; 
They are the spirits myriad 

On hill and plain 
Of those who've passed before their time, 
By bestial hands besmeared with slime, 
Who find no rest in heaven or hell, 
Who linger here 'neath bond and spell, 
And tortured wait. 



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Page 26 



■ «nnmtin»n« ii mi« - 






AND OPEN SKY 



Dishonored maid and outraged wife 
And babe impaled on sanguine knife, 
No peace shall know, or ease, or rest 
Until these hordes of Huns invest 
Hell's open gate. 

From dismal swamp and sluggish stream 

The white mist "wreathes. 
And in the red moons eerie gleam 

A Something breathes. 



Good Night 

Soft twilight falls; the day is done. 

The white sheep gather at the bar 
And down the hill the cattle come. 

The church-bells faintly ring afar ; 
The day is done. The crimson west 
Turns fast to gray — so rest, dear: Rest! 

The night wind blows. Upon your bed 
The silver moonlight gently falls. 

Through trellised branches closely spread 
A drowsy pigeon plaintive calls. 

The day is done — and this is best — 

Good night, my Mary. Rest, dear — Rest ! 



nrr» r»n » ■ « vr «e» m i ■ * imnimn * nmn » ■ »■" ■ t ■ a ■ io * » w«w tT 

Page 27 




- 
- 



Joaquin Miller 

THE HEIGHTS 
JUNE 15, 1919 

He lingers here his well-loved trees among, 

Where mellow sunlight falls, and fragrant 
shade 

Of slender eucalypts, whose leaves are laid 
Like scimitars across the trails. Here rung 
The bells of poesy, and — ringing — flung 

The magic of his love on hill and glade. 

And of his love-enchanted land he made 
New songs, to keep this love-land ever young. 

And where he sang I hear him still: the 

breeze 
Which sways the incensed cedar brings to 
me 
His loved voice. Here on the rocky, wind- 
ing way, 
By mossy wall, among the columned trees, 
In every nook where once he loved to be, 
I find him still — and here he lives for aye. 







Page 28 



HlllllllilllllHiimilHIIiimUMiiiinmimiiniiimmy 



£ 



AND OPEN SKY 



The Unforgotten 



The soft wind blows o'er poppied field. 

There where embattled nations fought 
Deft hands of time the scars have healed 

Which torch and shell in terror wrought. 
And where despoiling armies trod 

The azure flax is waving tall. 
There plowmen turn the peaceful sod, 

A placid picture pastoral. 

And on the hill, in ordered rows, 

Lie low the sacred dead of France 
Who fell before ensanguined foes. 

They won as their inheritance 
Undying glory, and a grave 

Which yields them peace, eternal rest 
Within that soil for which they gave 

Their lives, their all, and — giving — blessed. 

Yes, here is rest, but here alone, 

For in the hearts of France, bereft, 
There lies the coldness of the tomb; 

What else, indeed, for France is left ? 
Yet in the years when memory 

By years is softened, and the old 
Have passed beyond, then youth shall see 

Their story marvelous unfold. 

By song and legend, down through time 
Shall ring the names of those who gave 

Of all they had, in strife sublime, 
And passed, ungrieving, to the grave. 




Page 29 



••• - ' •a AJu.iiiiiiiiiH iimuu 




Ina Donna Coolbrith 

Sweet songstress of this fair demesne, 
Whose lyric lines to flower and bird and 

field 
Eternal life have given, to you we yield 
The scepter and the crown. We hail you 

queen 
Of those illustrious singers who have been 
The glory of our golden state. You wield, 
By virtue of a compact long since sealed, 
Your power divine, with sweet and gracious 
mien. 

Enthroned amidst the memories of the years 
A-down whose lengthened way clear voices 
ring 
With tales now grave, now gay; now sad, 

now sweet — 
To you whose power commands our smiles 
and tears, 
Let us, and humbly, loyal tribute bring; 
We lay unfading laurels at your feet. 



-yrrrrryf rt tr n r» t ¥ wy »» f Tii 






%■ * 




^ 



Page 30 



AND OPEN SKY 




HniiiiHitiiiiiiniiiiHiiHn, 



Low Tide 



The long, smooth fingers of the tide 
Reach gropingly across the beach: 

The silent ripples gleam and glide 

Upon the shore they scarce can reach. 

And on the shining, dimpled sands, 

Like jewels on a royal gown, 
Leave gleaming pools and silvern bands 

Of little rivers running down. 

While through the mists which thinly cling 
A veil of blue on bay and shore, 

Bewildered sea-gulls shrilly fling 

Weird calls their searching flight before. 

The crimson glow which held the west 

Above the purple and the gold 
Has sped, and now is manifest 

The silver of the moon grown old. 







HILL TEA 



ILS 



God's Harvest 

To me is given ; mine shall be, 
Nor mortal hand shall take from me 
What God has given. All serene 
I wait on Time's unfolding hand 
Above the running of the sand, 
Nor fear what Time shall thus decree. 



For Time nor sands nor anything 
That in the years they seem to bring 
Are real or true, nor can they glean 
From Life's real harvest. They have 

sown 
Not anything. And thus has grown 
No seed or fruit for garnering. 

But God has sowed. With loving hand 
He strewed the seed for my demand 
When fruitage comes above the green. 
God's is the harvest; He alone 
Shall give to me what is my own. 
'Tis but for me to understand. 



S 



Page 32 



li 



iamimn 



AND OPEN SKY 



Lafayette Square 

High on a hilltop green I stand, 
The busy streets on every hand. 

The grime, the strife, so far below ; 

Here quietude and peace I know. 
The smooth, soft sward beneath my feet ; 
The odor of the jasmine sweet; 

The song of bird or laugh of child 

In happiness all undefiled; 
The freshness of the new-mown sod — 
A breathing spot, a place of God. 

And far across the sparkling bay 
Proud Tamalpais guards the way. 
The circling sea-gulls shrilly cry 
About the steamers passing by. 
Pursuing waves spin white with foam 
As shoreward they come rushing home. 
Across the hill come wreaths of mist 
As salty as the sea they've kissed — 
I leave the hill ; I take with me 
Full measure of its harmony. 



tl l HUII II I I I Il 



Page 83 



Ma* »»**»*» «***»»** »»**»»»**»**'» **»»*» - - ^^axjH 



1 



HILL TRAILS 









The Broken Seal 

Upon the closed door we placed a seal 
And turned away. Romance, we said, was 

done. 
Fate turned the busy wheel whereon is 
spun 
Her mystic thread, and with the whirling 

wheel 
Fate laughed. The shuttered door could not 
conceal 
From her the fragrant dreams that one 

by one 
We'd laid away; the idyl scarce begun 
Which nevermore, we said, should light 
reveal. 

Fate laughed, for wise she is and wisely knew 
That dreams like these are never put away, 

Are never done, but only live the more 
Denying them ; and these alone are true. 

And so we two came hand in hand today ; 
We broke the seal and opened wide the 
door. 



■> 



■■•' !* 



ie 






■ 





M,M*M**M»M* 



AND OPEN SKY 



Josephine Swan White 

As snow, too early fallen, heaps upon the 
rose, 

Her white hair gleams above the spring- 
time of her smile, 

And as the roses shed upon each breeze that 
blows 

Their sweet perfume, she gives to all her 
friends the while 



S m 



Of joy. That gift divine, whereby through 
fingered keys 

She speaks the soul within her, gives to 
lifeless strings 

A throbbing life which sings harmonious 
melodies, 

And peace and warmth and new hope to 
each mortal brings. 



miiii iii niiiUH Hiiiii' 



Page 35 









HILL TRAILS 



Worms 

It's funny, sort of, but I find that wimmin' 
Kaint find no poetry in swimmin' 

Es boys do, er in fishin', speshly worms ; 

All they think of is the slime an' squirms. 
See no joy in jes' the diggin' bait 
Early evenin' like, an' seem to hate 

Th' very thought o' worms an' such. 

An' when it comes to baitin' hooks — not 
much ! 

But take a boy of nine er ten, er so, 

An' he likes worms, a-huntin' high an' low 

To find 'em. Likes 'em fat an' long — 

Seems like, kind of, that they jes' belong 
To boys. It somehow brings a sort of pain 
To jes' a-see 'em diggin' bait again, 

An' makes me wish that I was diggin' 
there, 

With touseled head, an' dirty feet, an' bare. 

It makes me think of evenin' long ago, 
With dusk a-comin' on, so soft an' slow ; 

A sort o' fragrance in the dim spring air 

Of leaves a-burnin'; dad a-rakin' there 
An' me a-spadin' in the garden plot — 
A-workin', this time, jes' as soon as not — 

An' sweatin', mebbe, like a harvest han' 

A-gettin' worms f er my ol' can. 




I llllllli rHIII HIIIIIIlHiiiiiii ll l llHiii ■ i ■ ■ i ■ rrr 



Page 36 



AND 



OPEN SKY 



To hear the twitterin' call of sleepy birds — 
To hear along the street the friendly words 
Of neighbors passin'. See the glowin' fire 
Die down to gray. An' see the moon rise 
higher 
An' red as Jones's barn, then turn to gold 
An' fade to silver ; see the stars unfold 

An' twinkle greetin' in the soft spring sky : 
A friendly greetin' as the clouds passed by. 

To smell the honeysuckle bloomin' there — 
Why — boy-like — seemed as though no care 
Er trouble was, er could be, nigh to me ; 
The winds that blew were all my own, an' 
free. 
An' when the shadows fell an' lights burned 

dim, 
While melted moonlight spilled across the 
brim, 
I crept into my bed an' said, "good night," 
An' to the land of boy-dreams took my 
flight. 

It may be true that worms ain't fit f er verse, 

But I contend as how you might do worse. 
The charm that poetry has f er me, er art, 
Is mostly what it calls up in my heart, 

Ner ain't the color, er the smooth-strung 
word, 

Er rhymin' lines by poet's art conferred. 
An' if a worm will bring that boy to me, 
Why, then, I say a worm is poetry ! 






■ i* 



i ■ i n m inir ri m iiiii i i i ini ■ i i m» ii mm inniii»imr»w yia 

Page 37 







HILL TRAILS 



Des' A-waitin' 



When the tiahed sun am droppin' 

Down behind the puhple hill, 
While the whole world seems a-restin', 

It's so quiet-lak an' still ; 
When the length'nin' shadows reachin' 

To'a'd the open cabin doah, 
Seems to me I miss yo', honey, 

Mo'n I evah did befoah. 
Miss yo' pickin' on the banjo — 

Miss yo' talkin' an* yo' smile — 
I'se a-honin' fo' yo', honey; 

Kind o' lonesome-lak the while. 

Things don't seem des lak dey useter; 

Moon don't seem to shine so bright 
When I wake up, cryin' fo' yo', 

In the da'k houahs of the night, 
An' the thousan' stahs a-twinklin' — 

Each one des' lak two appeahs 
As I see dem tremblin', blinkin', 

Through the fallin' of mah teahs — 
Des' a-wonderin' what yoh doin' — 

Ev'y footfall seems a mile 
Till yo' comin' to me, honey ; 

Kind o' lonesome-lak the while. 



n u i simmmti i lffiw twi 



Page 38 



if^E j « ■ ■ ■ * ■ ■ g ««jJLaJLfcA«JL^UUL*A%JU^ 



AND OPEN SKY 



Somehow, birds dey ain't a-singin' 

Same sweet note dey used to sing ; 
Birds don't seem des lak dey happy — 

Kind o' lazy on the wing. 
An' the win' it soun' so mou'nf ul 

Dat I somehow kaint enduah 
Des' to heah it. Reckon maybe 

I'd feel bettah if I'se suah 
Sometime heah yo' in the evenin' 

Whistle happy at the stile 
Comin' home, des lak yo' useter — 

Kind o' lonesome-lak the while. 



Des' a-waitin', honey, patient; 

Know yo' comin' back to me. 
Know yo' thinkin' 'bout yo' mammy, 

An' no mattah whah yo' be 
Know the good Gawd watchin' foh you; 

Ain't a-worryin' no moah, 
Kase I know some day I'll see yo' 

Comin' thro the cabin doah 
Des' a-smilin' lak yo' useter — 

I'se a-waitin' fo' that smile — 
Hope yo' comin' mighty soon, boy ! 

Kind o' lonesome-lak the while. 



HiHiinmur : - - - s i 5 1 e 1 1 s 1 1 s 1 8 1 1 1 s? 



Page 39 







My Mother's Garden 

In a quaint, old-fashioned garden 
In a dear, old-fashioned town, 

Bloomed the sweet, old-fashioned flowers 
All the garden walks around. 

Marigolds in yellow splendor, 

Crimson peonies a-glow; 
On their stems, so tall and slender, 

Hollyhocks their blossoms show. 

And the Johnny- jump-up's faces 
Peering slyly through the grass; 

Love-in-mist with dainty laces, 
And the bluebell's azure mass. 

Bridal wreath, festooned and flowing, 
Near the sweet crab-apple tree 

Where the petals, pink and glowing, 
Set their perfumed odors free. 

But of all the fragrant flowers 

Blooming in this garden old, 
Dewy with the summer showers, 

There was one of charms untold. 

Bumblebees went droning, humming, 
Tumbling round to steal its sweet ; 

In the dusk the great moths coming, 
Flying, fluttering to the treat, 









i 



MIHIIH»iHIIII I IHHHIHIHlHIHUim i HHIIHTHT l 

Page 40 



iMH'^ M""""'"'"""'"""""'""""""""'"""'' 






AND OPEN SKY 



Laved their long tongues in its treasure, 
Hovered heedless close above, 

Seemed half drunken there with pleasure 
In this treasury of love. 

Twas the quaint, old-fashioned moss rose 
Which my mother planted there ; 

'Twas the sweet and fragrant moss rose 
On her breast she used to wear. 

In the dusk when stars are showing, 
And a fragrance comes to me 

On the summer breezes blowing, 
Then again I seem to see 

Sweet old flowers that were swaying 

In that garden years ago, 
And again a boy I'm straying 

Where the sweet moss roses grow. 



nmr 



Page 41 



^MMkUAM^MAMMMMM ■.<»«■■ fcl^aiAllllllll llllftllia 1 1,1 1 1111111111.1 11JJLI 



HILL TRAILS 



Awake! 

Brown locusts, come from overseas 

To breed and spread. We heedless yield 
Fruitage of valley and fair field. 

Forever hungry, still they seize 

New ground, new space, new breeding place. 
No room they leave for us, of old 
The tillers of this fertile mould, 

These locusts brown of alien race. 



Brown locusts, nibbling evermore 

At that which we have toiling grown ; 

Harvest they reap they have not sown. 
They spread as spreads an open sore. 
Valley and field and town they take ; 

Theirs are the markets. When shall we 

Arise in outraged majesty 
And this their dangerous thralldom break! 



Ours is the land by right of race. 

What heritage shall we bequeath 

When all our soil shall lie beneath 
Their alien tread. How shall we face 
Our children when they claim of us 

The lands which still are theirs by right ? 

What shall we say ? This Orient blight 
Lies over all, and poisonous. 



l|I MHII| l llf 

Page 42 



»M,*aaiiiJ*iiaiiiiiJiai*i,«ii*a*aaiiii*ii>iiia>ttj^jiM'#4''**#.AjLi 






Awake ! Oh, California's men ! 

Nor yield for ease and yellow gold 

The lands which you should priceless hold. 

Awake! And take your own again! 

Shall sun-graced banner fly above 
Our flag of stars, and men of brown 
Rule us, subjected, bowing down? 

Awake! And guard the land you love! 



-BB- 



Mother 

Heart of me, part of me, 

Mother of mine; 
Holding me, folding me, 
Love all divine. 

Seeing me, knowing me — 
What though the wind 

Like a leaf blowing me, 
Leaves you behind — 

Still your heart clings to me, 

Steadfast and fine; 
New courage brings to me — 

Mother of mine! 




Page 43 



Illllllltl t llilllltimii tl t* JtJJJL fc liUlllitli>lll>lHII»|Hgiil 



' 



■ 









HILL TRAILS 






1 



Isle of Dreams 



If all the twinkling, gleaming stars, that in 

the sky I see, 
Were laughing, gleeful fairies a-coming down 

for me 
With golden, glowing lanterns, to take me 

out to ride 
Upon the slender, crescent moon which 

floats upon the tide 
Of silvered clouds, so silently, how happy I 

would be. 



We'd sail across the Sea of Sleep and reach 

the Isle of Dreams ; 
Our only light upon the sea would be the 

golden gleams 
Of tiny, twinkling lanterns, but I would not 

greatly care, 
For that would be quite light enough to see 

to get us there, 
Those golden, glowing lanterns, with their 

flick'ring yellow beams. 

We'd sail into the harbor 'neath the Moun- 
tains of the Night 

That loom so dark and gloomy that I'd almost 
take affright 
If it were not for the fairies. Then we'd 

land upon the shore 
With cloudy, frothy billows bursting there 
in foam before, 

Along the silver, glistening sands that stretch 
so smooth and white. 



i rrarYrrrrirry r»»M ' w y t T»riiiii»rri 



■ p 



■ 



Page 44 



mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm 



AND OPEN SKY 



And this is where the Sandman comes to fill 
his Bag of Sand 

That he sprinkles in the evening with his 
tiny, funny hand, 
Till your eyes go blinking, winking, and 

you blink and wink and nod — 
But I've never seen the Sandman, and I 
think that's rather odd 

That he should come and not be seen — I can- 
not understand. 

Then all the happy hours through, with 
fairies I would play ; 

We'd dance upon the Silver Sands until the 
Light of Day 
Came softly shining in upon the somber 

Sea of Sleep, 
And then into the crescent moon all si- 
lently we'd creep 

To smoothly sail o'er swelling clouds so 
swiftly far away. 

But in my hands I'd bring to you a gift from 

that far isle : 
A Happy Dream I'd bring to you, and give it 

with a smile. 
And maybe, some night, on the moon you'll 

sail away with me 
And pluck a dream all by yourself from off 

the Slumber Tree 
That grows above the silver strand where 

fairies dance the while. 



l a lift! 11*1111 Hill I miUiiiH ii iiUU UiJiJM 



HILL TRAILS 






The Slumber Tree is broad and low, with 

blossoms on each bough, 
And in between the blossoms sweet the 

dreams are hanging low. 
The Baby Dreams are down beneath, where 

little hands can reach, 
And dreams for me are higher hung above 

the gleaming beach, 
While dreams for Dad and Mother Dear are 

higher still, I know. 

So when the stars come peeping out I'll sail 

the sea anew, 
Some evening soon when floats the moon, a 

bark so staunch and true, 
Where fairy lamps shall light our way 

across the Drowsy Deep, 
And hand in hand upon the strand we'll 

watch the billows leap, 
And then beneath the Slumber Tree shall find 

a dream for you. 



How Queer 

The rain is swiftly falling down, 
Which is not half so queer 

As should it rise from off the ground 
And quickly disappear. 






rnrnrmm 



Page 46 



■.■iiilJilliiiiiiii*iiiiiaiimiliimaiHiliiHE"*"»»iIiigifilA 















■III 



AND OPEN SKY 



Adventure 

I am beating across the white-capped bay 
Before the southern wind, 

While the mad sea-gulls, 

The scolding trulls, 

Wing away — wide away ! 
And I seek what I shall find. 

Oh, the flying foam from the breaking crest 
Is salt and wet on my cheek, 

And the keen wind sings 

Where the taut sail clings — 
Speed away on the quest! 
And who shall say what I seek ! 

The blue of the hills is behind me, far, 
And the sands of the long, low shore ; 

With a foaming rail 

And a swelling sail, 
Across the angry bar 
To the sea that lies before. 

And never again shall I see the bay, 
Nor ever again the sands ; 

For the clean wind blows 

And the swift tide flows — 
I'm away ! Sail away ! 
Dare away to old-new lands ! 










o ll il ii i JLAf -linin iiiiiii 












HILL TRAILS 



Pals of the Road 

Walkin' down the fragrant lanes, 

Through the world with you, 
Underneath the drenchin' clouds, 

Or the skies of blue ; 
Ankle-deep in clover bloom, 

Where the bumblebees 
Tumble round like fuzzy clowns, 

An' the perfumed breeze 
Bends the slender goldenrod, 

While the timothy, 
Tall beside the old rail fence, 

Nods in sympathy. 
Maybe find a little mud; 

Maybe find it rough; 
Maybe find a rut or two, 

But it's just enough, 
Makes us love the goin' more 

When again we find 
Smoother roads an' smilin' skies 

Than we left behind. 

Over hill and over stream, 

Through the world with you; 
Ev'ry smilin' countryside 

Seems a fairer view. 
Ev'ry birdnote by the way 

Seems a sweeter song 
Than they sung to us before. 

As we tramp along, 
Hungry sometimes, tired too, 

Ploddin' o'er the miles, 






Page 48 



Mii'iUiiJiUillHlimiHHiiliilHUililliliiiliiiiHiim i-M« 



AND OPEN SKY 






Mebbe think that frowns might come 

'Stead of happy smiles. 
Frowns an' you don't hitch, somehow ; 

Smilin' skies or rain, 
Dust or dew or weariness, 

Always just the same. 
Happy with the open road ; 

Findin' something new 
'Round each bend within the road, 

Through the world with you. 

Seen a lot of ups an' downs, 

Just us two together, 
Trampin' down the country roads, 

Sun an' stormy weather. 
Sleepin' where the twinklin' stars 

Winked through lacin' trees, 
An' the tumblin' river's song 

Sang us melodies — 
Seemed-like, dreamin', songs of home, 

Home I never knew ; 
Wake up, sobbin', an' be glad, 

Reachin' out for you. 
Just a dog you are, I know; 

Just a tramp like me, 
Happy when the summer's come 

An' the roads are free. 
Never ask a better pal, 

Or a truer friend — 
Through the world with you, old pal, 

'Til we reach the end! 



j 4J.iilJLl» i »l iiiit l i»»i * i*».iii i i i liii i » lJ*jUUU^ 



HILL TRAILS 



Purple Meadows of Delight 

I leave behind that empty shell of mine 
And through the splendid silence of the 

night, 
Along the mystic star-trails, gleaming 
white, 
With eagerness I pass among the stars 

Into that purple meadow of delight 
Which is our trysting place, our age-old 
shrine. 
In flesh you have been mine but once in 

twice 
A thousand years : Tho that were paradise 
More perfect this, when in the star-strewn 

mead 
Your very soul is one with mine indeed. 
And though a thousand years may pass, 

and more, 
E'er I shall hold you as I did before, 
Within this purple meadow you are mine 
Until the pale stars, dying, cease to shine. 



'Ifllfl! 



t ww m vwm itfm i' ii mi 
Page 50 



Iff! 



AND OPEN SKY 



i 



1L 



Beneath the sun I plod the long hours 
through, 
Those waking hours of toil and man-made 

strife 
Which mortal thought would say makes all 
of life. 
But with the darkness opens fair the way — 

I leave the body ; as a sure-thrown knife 
Speeds from the hand, I speed through space 
to you; 
The purple meadows of delight I find. 
All thought of flesh and earth is left be- 
hind; 
No mortal love was e'er so sweet as this 
As when among the stars I feel your kiss 
And wander with you o'er the starry sward 
Of purple meadows while the moon keeps 
ward. 
Oh, love of mine in meadow sweet with dew, 
Tell me: which life is dream and which is 
true! 




Mtiiitinnn»mim MMt l imimi 

? *W»M*W Wk^ l l l l ll H ill I II IH I WI i l lll l lllll H ill M llli yil ll U l l l B MMW^MWfrM^M^} 












HILL TRAILS 



The Open Road 

There's a sort o' spring-like softness on the 
breeze, 
An' the fields are showin' green above the 
brown. 
There's a swellin' of the buds upon th' trees, 
An' Fd kind o' like to get away from town. 
Fd like to see the willows turn from gray, 
The dull old gray they've worn through 
winter's cold, 
While the driftin' leaves of summer round 
them lay — 
I'd like to see the willows turn to gold. 

I'd like to feel the road beneath my feet, 
So diff' rent from the pavements of the 
town 
Where y' hear a thousand footfalls on the 
street 
Of the busy people goin' up an' down. 
I want to get the smell of new-turned sod 
Where the sweatin' horses, tuggin', pull the 
plow, 
An' the meadow larks go wingin' up to God 
With thanks that spring is comin' now. 

I want to lazy lean upon the rail 

An' watch the playin' minnows float an' 
gleam ; 
An' I'd hear the plaintive love-call of the 
quail 
From the alder thickets close beside the 
stream. 



iniiiiiiiiMiiiiim t i i imhii i i fWTilTi if i ■ 

Page 52 






AND OPEN SKY 






Where the smell of green things growin'd 
come to me, 
Tosseled alder an' the buddin' catkin 
bough — 
Why, it's just a — seems-like — pictured mel- 
ody, 
An' I wish that I could see it — hear it — 
now. 

Oh, I'm tired of the busy city's roar, 

An' I'm weary of the dingy city's ways ; 
I'm a-longin' for the country more an' more, 
An' I'm thinkin' that it won't be many 
days 
Before I hear the blackbird's mating song 

As he sways upon the rush's slender green ; 
See him, startled, flashing crimson-winged 
along 
To the fastness of the thicket's heavy 
screen. 

Oh, I'll feel beneath my feet the open road, 
Stretching miles away beyond the foothill's 
haze, 
With the open countryside for my abode, 
Lazying slow along the roadside as I 
please. 
I've my blanket roll upon my willing arm ; 
I've no need of town or chatt'ring com- 
pany — 
When the pussywillows spread their silver 
charm 
It is forth upon the open road for me ! 















W ii i im i mimii i mtui 

Page 53 



'f* ll M* >> * il>llll * i>ll>lt>1,ltM1>>tt H*» < »ll» > " l>1 » illl l 



HILL TRAILS 



Old Man Wintah 

Damp wind bio win' from the souf , 

(Heah Bob White a-whistlin on the hill!) 

Big snowflake come siftin' down 

Thoo the branches bare an' brown. 

Oak leaves fallin', driftin' fast; 

Wintah sure am come at last — 
(Heah Bob White a-whistlin shrill!) 

Soft wind blowin' gainst mah face — 

(Hey ah, Cottontail! Whah po' gwine?) 
Gray clouds driftin', wet an' low, 
Oak trees tossin' just below; 
Sure am settled in mah mind 
Dat Old Man Wintah's just behind — 
(Dah po' go, Cottontail, roun dat fellah pine!) 

White birch shinin' thoo th' gloom, 

(OV black crow go cawin past) 
Crick a-flowin,' smooth an' brown, 
Golden birch leaves floatin' down ; 
Mus'rat swimmin' up th' stream — 
Golly! Dis no time to dream! 

(Crow say wintah come at last.) 

Down th' hill or Hetty waitin', 

(Chimbly smo^in, smell dat coo^in!) 
Dogs go barkin' roun' de door — 
Ain't nevah seen me, cohse, bef oah ! — 
Ground am gettin' wet an' white; 
01' Man Wintah come tonight. 
(Cabin sure am welcome loo^in!) 



IE 



2 : 9 






AND OPEN SKY 



A Glade Where Violets Grow 

Deep down within a fragrant woodland brown 

I know a tiny glade where violets grow, 
Where all along the hillside, stars of light, 
The trilliums lift their lovely blooms of 

snow, 
Three-petalled on the broad, green leaves 
below. 
And here spring beauties shake their charm- 
ing bells 
Above the mould wherein the bloodroot 
dwells. 

The wild plum sheds its spicy fragrance 

there 
Sweet on the rain-drenched, ling'ring 

spring-time air. 
While silv'ry sweet from out a basswood tree 
A nesting robin plaintive sings to me 
Its lullaby of swiftly falling night. 
Upon the tiny glade where violets grow 
The soft light of the moon sifts gently 

down. 






f lUIIIIIIIHI I HTIIlllllllfiniHUllHlJ 

Page 55 




j*-* l 3 - * - * ■* " * * ' M * * K * * * * * *-»***-*' a.AX|k 



HILL TRAILS 



The Patchwork Square 

Crimson and yellow, green and blue, 

Silks and velvets of every hue; 
Purple satin and royal gold, 
Varied colors in wealth untold. 

Scraps of the gowns of other days, 

Telling their tales of other ways, 

Of other times than those we live — 
This rainbowed, patchwork narrative. 

Here is a bit of the emerald gown 
That mother wore when she came to town 
In those far-off days before the war, 
Those days when dad was a bachelor. 
This is a bit of the flowered vest 
They say dad wore when the loveliest 
And sweetest girl in the countryside 
Promised that she would be his bride. 

And this wee scrap of yellowed white, 

Toned by the years in their constant flight, 
A treasured bit of her wedding dress 
And full of her years of happiness. 

Here is a royal blue brocade 

Worn as a bride, and I'm sure she made 
A picture sweet for dad to see 
As she walked by his side so lovingly. 



>im il l l limHI I IMMHIllHIIHHl> 

Page 56 



HUHIIIIIIIIIIHH? I MMM MMI 



AND OPEN SKY 



And this — well, this bit of faded pink 

Holds many a soft-shed tear, and I think 
Of the days when tender hands caressed 
The wee silk gown which was never blessed 

With a baby's warmth, but with a spray 

Of lavender was laid away. 
Faded and stained, it is precious yet 
To the mother heart that does not forget. 

Crimson and yellow, green and brown; 
Criss-crossed with stitches up and down. 

Lovingly sewed and cleverly pieced 

They take their place, and even the least 
Can add its bit to the story told 
Of those long-ago, far-away, days of old 

When dad was young and mother was 
fair — 

This dear, old, bright-hued patchwork 
square. 



-H- 



The Street Walker 

With painted face and bold, yet furtive, eye 
She walks the streets and scans the passers- 
by. 
Her flashy garb, all cheaply fine, yet worn 
And poor; her draggled skirts, unhung and 

torn, 
Proclaim aloud her shamed profession old 
Wherein, for barren life, herself is sold. 



Page 57 






HILL TRAILS 



It Is Not True 

They tell me that in Flanders you lie dead 
While o'er you ruddy poppies blow and 

bloom ; 
That broken is your thread upon the loom, 
The thread within the fabric just begun; 
A golden thread within the fabric spun. 
They tell me that on Flanders field of 

brown 

You laid your glorious weapons gently 
down 
And fell asleep, your arms beneath your 
head. 

But down the slopes I see you come to me 
As in the days of old, all eagerly, 
The tender grasses bending at your tread ; 
The fragrant apple blossoms o'er you spread. 
Your smile is tender as it used to be — 
And yet they say in Flanders you lie dead ! 

They wonder why I do not mourn for you 
Who there in Flanders field are lying dead 
While battling armies pass above your 
head. 

They see me in my old, accustomed way 

About the village streets from day to day. 
They see my undimmed eye and quiet face ; 
They see of grief for you no tear or trace ; 

For in the garden where the larkspurs grew 



Page 58 



i < a i a a a a a a a a i a a a a a a a a a a a a a i 



LM.AJL&. t • 



AND OPEN SKY 



When you were with me in those dewy hours 
Of love among the fragrant, blossoming 

bowers, 
The larkspur blooms again, all slender blue. 
And there in dusk of eve I come to you 
And meet you, hold you, midst my garden's 

flowers — 
That you are dead in Flanders is not true ! 



The Artist 



31 



When God had brushed the sky with blue, 
Had painted all the forest green, 

And swept the west with sunset hue 
Above the ocean emeraldine, 

He dropped his laden palette down 

Upon a California field, 
And flowed upon the blossomed ground 

The radiant colors there revealed. 



Page 59 



5 M.J.1 IA**JL # jJJ- * *JJA§JJJI * JLM "Ai.'L'LJL 1 ? * " " * *3 ' 



HILL TRAILS 




A Rainy Day 

I like to see the raindrops splash 

Upon our window here, 
And run in little rivers down; 

And on the schoolhouse near 
To watch the feathered weathervane 

Go whirling with the breeze ; 
It seems to change direction 

With the very greatest ease. 

I wish I was a weathervane, 

So I could make it blow — 
The wind, I mean — in any way 

I'd like to have it go. 
I'd like to be a raindrop 

And go sailing on a cloud 
High up above the housetops there — 

My, wouldn't I be proud ! 

Or maybe as a yellow leaf 

Go whirling from the trees 
And down the flooded gutters float 

In golden argosies. 
I'd like to be a dewy drop 

A-hanging on a twig 
And growing and a-growing 

Until I grew so big 



iiini» ii i i»nm rii m i nu i nim » ni 



Page 60 



21 



m 



AND OPEN SKY 



31 



I'd lose my hold upon the branch 

And like a flash I'd fall, 
A glistening, glittering raindrop 

Just like a crystal ball. 
But if 'twas me I'm sure that I 

Would find a softer place 
To fall upon, 'cause otherwise 

I fear I'd scratch my face. 

I'm very glad I'm not a bird, 

All rumpled up and cold ; 
I'm glad I'm not a-sweeping streets 

So ragged, bent and old. 
And take it altogether, 

Of all the things to be, 
I'm glad, I guess, to find I can 

Be no one else but me. 



The Kiss 

As lightly as a golden birch-leaf falls 
When evening calls across the river s tranquil 

As sweet and fragrant as the dew-brushed 
morn . 

But newly born, when opening blossoms ra- 
diant blow — 
Pure, sweet, like breath of rosemary 
There came the baby's kiss to me. 




imii i iiimmnnyTUT 

Pag© 61 







3ILL TRAILS 



The Popple Fairy 

We all was out in the woods one day, 
Jus' Allie an' Jay an' me, an' say ! 

The sky was blue an' the air was still, 

Was scarce a breeze come over the hill. 
An' the big, old sun was shinin' hot 
Till Jay says he'd jus' as soon as not 

Lie still in the shade of the popple tree. 

An' when Jay says that, why, Allie an' me 
Jus' flopped on our backs. High in the sky 
A cloud, scarce movin', was floatin' by. 

Through the popple leaves the sun poured 
down 

An' a dronin' bee was the only sound, 
Or, high overhead, a flyin' crow 
Cawed once er twice to his friends below. 

But the popple leaves in the quiet air 
Shivered an' quivered an' swung up there; 
An' I laughed an' says to Allie, "Say, 
Look at them leaves ! 'At's a funny way 
Fer leaves to do." An' he says to me, 
His ma she says it's a fairy tree — 
The popple fairies, little an' fat, 
An' you can't see where they're hangin' at, 
Ner no one else, but they turn an' swing 
On the popple leaves, an' laugh an' sing. 
An' she says if he'll just keep still — 
But goodness knows if he ever will! — 
An' listen sharp, why then some day 
'At maybe he'll hear jus' what they say. 



Page 62 






nr* 



i iiimi nii niiiimiiiiiiitiiit' 



AND OPEN SKY 



So Allie an' Jay an' me, all three, 
We watched the leaves on the popple tree 
Swaying an' swinging high up there, 
Cool an' green in the silent air. 
The bees droned on — a locust whirred — 
An' that was the only sound we heard, 
Save a crow cawed twice, an' then was still, 
An' the low-toned hum of the old grist mill. 
I looked at Jay an' laughed, an' he 
Laughed back, an' rolled on the grass, an' we 
All three laughed, an' we didn't know why 
But we just did, an' I says I 
Bet a fairy dropped down from the tree 
An' made us laugh, Jay an' Allie an' me. 



Presence 

When, in the darkness, 

I cannot see the moon or any star; 
When the loneliness, and the bitterness, 

Press on me, and you seem so very far 

Away from me, I call: 

Then, throbbing, musical, 

Down through deep space where heavenly 
beings are 
I hear your loved voice fall; 
I am not lonely then at all. 



* » mi liiiiii»iiimii«ii»inii«tnii M'M'J 



<» 



HILL TRAILS 



1 



Derelict 

No more I make my restless round 
Or answer, quivering, to the sound 
Of signal bell. The busy feet 
Upon my decks no more shall beat 
Of those I ferried from the shore. 
I cross the heaving bay no more. 

Where, wrecked and battered, weary, worn, 

The tender tide my hull has borne, 

I lie at rest. The wavelets run 

In sparkling glee beneath the sun. 

The clamorous sea-gulls, curious, cry 

In shrill contempt — and pass me by. 

And through the heavy veil of night 

I see at times the searching light — 

I hear sometimes the sobbing notes 

Of sister ships, whose brazen throats 

Send wondering search through fog and wind, 

Yet nevermore their lost shall find. 

Here let me rest. The pitying sand 
Shall hold me close. The tender hand 
Of passing time shall bury deep 
My shattered bones, and you shall keep 
Me pictured as I used to be, 
Still unafraid of tide or sea. 



*ISI«ffllIfB**l*l«IVIfl**fK*RIIfR|IIIR«r 



Page 64 



w 



AND OPEN SKY 



The Golden Quest 

When the great, red moon is hanging 

Low in the starless sky; 
When the tall, dark pines are silent, 

I hear them passing by — 
I hear the shuffle of rough-clad feet 

A-tramp on the dim old trail, 
And I know they are off on their restless 
search, 

Who seek for a golden grail. 

I hear the click of the rocks as they pass, 

The clatter of pack and pan. 
I see dim shapes on the brush-grown trail 

Of burro and horse and man. 
You think they are sleeping in valley and hill, 

At rest in their grass-grown plot ; 
I know they're a-search for the golden dust 

Though their headstones crumble and rot. 

For I hear them on bar, on ravine and flat, 

A-stir in their quest for gold ; 
And I see their weird forms in the river mist, 

Bent and weary and old. 
I hear the shuffle and tramp of feet 

As they pass by my camping place — 
Yet on the trail in the silver dawn 

I find no print or trace. 



■nHBMMMMMHHHHHMHfltttMiniltMillit 



HILL TRAILS 



My Mother's Chair 

There's a low little chair by the window wide, 

An old little, worn little chair; 
Its rockers are battered by years defied, 

And its arms are of paint worn bare. 
The cushions are threadbare and faded and 
old, 

Of this old little, low little chair, 
But soft are the cushions and warmly they 
hold 

A wee lady with snow-white hair. 

Gently she rocks in the low little chair 

Alone in the sky's golden tide ; 
Alone and serene she is rocking there, 

And softly the gray shadows glide. 
Folded her hands on a gray-clad knee — 

Dear hands, toil-wrinkled and worn 
And gnurled with the labor she's done for me, 

The strife and the burden she's borne. 

Now slowly the gold of the sunset fades, 

Lingering last on her haloed hair, 
And night gently draws close her purple 
shades 

Round my mother still sitting there. 
The click of the chair on the worn old floor 

Runs slower and slower still. 
And the shadows fall, and the day is o'er, 

And night comes down from the hill. 



Page 66 






AND OPEN SKY 






Gently she rocks in the little old chair, 

But I'm back again on her knee, 
Tired with the play of the spent years afar, 

The years which have battered me. 
In the worn old chair, when the day is done, 

She holds me close to her breast 
Till the sands of the glass to the last grain run : 

And this, of life's gifts, is the best. 



Back Again 



The sea-gulls have come back again 

And all along the beach 
Are flying, strutting, wading 

Where the little rivers reach. 

They've come back from the islands where 

The winds are never still, 
Where the waves are beating madly 

And the foaming breakers spill. 

And now along the placid shore 
Where wet the tides have lain 

I see them wade and fly and prance; 
The gulls are back again. 



• 



Page 67 



HILL TRAILS 



The Fleet 

CHANT ROYAL 

Weary of war, of battling northern waves, 
Of foaming seas which bore upon their crests 
Both fire and ice ; of serving as the slaves 
Of Mars, and adding to the vast unrest 
Which made of this fair world a seething 

hell; 
Weary of spouting fires and volleyed shell 
And wreathing gun-smoke, sulphurous, float- 
ing by; 
Worn by the icy waves which scarify 
As wild before the frozen winds they leap, 
We rest at last beneath a summer sky 
In this fair sea where we shall vigil keep. 

Not ours the will, the fiery heart which craves 
The conflict fierce, the grim, unceasing quest 
Of war. Nor ours the spirit wild which raves 
At bonds and bars ; which says of peace, "A 

jest!" 
And which by might of men would men com- 
pel, 
And force to live as serfs where freemen 

dwell. 
Not ours the heart untamed which would defy 
God's law, and equal rights to equal men 

deny. 
That spirit which would, slyly, loathsome, 

creep 
From out its fen, and hold its tyranny 
In this fair sea where we shall vigil keep. 




muiiiM iuHin iiiiiiiiiMii urn i ■ ■ « n i Ti f i i » » i § ■ § i I F fiTR 1 

Page 68 



'f« '«tn mjiji i ■ tr« m mm 11 m ■ iiiiii nniiiiiiiiiiiiniiuitiiti m _*■■_■ ft 



AND OPEN SKY 



- 



O'er bitter seas which wash the drifted 

graves 
Where bones of babes and murdered women 

rest, 
Whence we, avenging, drove the bestial 

knaves 
From sea and shore they shall not more 

molest — 
O'er gloomy seas, where suns of hope dispel 
The leaden fogs, and happier days foretell, 
We drove, and watched the spindrift gleam- 
ing fly 
From cleaving prow. The spun foam seemed 

to vie 
With high clouds drifting, white as scattered 

sheep, 
Or as the following gulls which piercing cry 
In this fair sea where we shall vigil keep. 

Past islands where a tropic ocean laves 

A tropic shore ; past crags whereon there nest 

The sea-mew and the tern, whose gray egg 

paves 
The shore and cliff, and whose wild cries 

attest 
The vigilance of wakeful sentinel 
Perched high upon this island citadel ; 
Past mainland shores whose stern cliffs for- 
tify 
A land so grim, unwatered, drear and dry 
No man may live thereon, no harvest reap 
Of grain or fruit, we gladly homeward ply 
In this fair sea where we shall vigil keep. 



nimirnniiT i H i nmiini ii ir i i i mii i nimit i T a 



Page 69 







HILL TRAILS 



Swift past the cliffs whereon bold Time en- 
graves 
His mark with sweeping seas from out the 

west 

Which foaming leap toward sculptured archi- 
traves ; 
Swift cleaving on across the ocean's breast, 
We hear at last the welcome engine bell 
And glide to anchorage upon the swell. 
Our guns to loudly welcoming guns reply 
And streaming flags our welcome glorify. 
'Neath thronging streets which to the broad 

bay sweep, 
The grappling anchors, plunging, gladly tie 
In this fair sea where we shall vigil keep. 



So home at last we proud ships resting lie 
While echoing thunders on the brown hills 

die. 
At home we are, and ye may safely sleep 
While we your welcoming tributes justify 
In this fair sea where we shall vigil keep. 



■ itjR ■ « y«n w ■ ■ ■ ■ f J^^V^f ^^ujA ^IJULl^A * JJJJLI JJ A 4JJU 

M "Minn- .cYr;->«~dfifififififi^fifiH 



AND OPEN SKY 



Six Sea-Gulls Fly 

Over the sparkling, dawn-lit sea 
My lover's song comes joyously, 

As his white-sailed boat cleaves the run- 
ning tide 
And leans to the wind with a haughty 
pride. 
He waves his hand — and I stand alone 
On the shining beach whence his boat has 
flown. 

Six sea-gulls flying down the bay — 

Away! Away! 
Six sea-gulls fly and weirdly cry 
To the white-capped billows flashing by 
In the rose light of the dawning day — 

Away! Away! 

The wind has blown with a rising gale 
And the mad waves toss to its moaning wail. 
The seething foam runs about my feet 
As I pace the sands to their angry beat ; 
I search the sea — but I search in vain, 
For my lover comes nor ever again. 

Six sea-gulls low by the wreckage spread — 

The sky gleams red! 
Six sea-gulls fly, now low, now high 
Where the dank sea-weeds in tangles lie 
In a woven shroud for my lover, dead — 

The sky gleams red! 



:• 



■srit 



.... 



Page 71 



"• JUbi-B* ' »*#•* *J^M. JJt M *■**■ m m **JL!L* mim»m«mM' 




The Trail Into the Berkeley Hills 

The trail into the Berkeley hills 

Lies soft beneath my feet, 
And vagrant breezes flowing down 

Stir roadside blossoms sweet ; 
Stir roadside blossoms nodding there 

To greet the rose-dawn day. 
The Berkeley hills smile greeting down 

Upon the smiling bay. 

The trail into the Berkeley hills, 
The fair, blue hills, the Berkeley hills : 
I follow winding trails therein 

And wander far away. 

Beside the trail in Berkeley hills 

The bay trees slender stand 
Like ranks of soldiers, khaki-clad, 

A-marching at command. 
And heavy lies the fragrance there, 

Distilled from sun and dew, 
A balm as rare as any scent 

The Orient ever knew. 

The trail into the Berkeley hills, 
The fragrant hills, the Berkeley hills : 
The trail which winds in Berkeley hills 

Above the waters blue. 

The trail leads past brown, shimmering pools 
Where fern leaves dip and sway; 

Where tiny, crystal waters run, 
And cool, sweet zephyrs play. 

It leads past open, rounded breasts 






Page 72 



U HJUUU UU 

AND OPEN SKY 



■ 



Where golden grasses glow — 
Oh, billowing waves run gleaming there 
When winds of summer blow ! 
The trail into the Berkeley hills, 
The mystic hills, the Berkeley hills : 
The trail into the Berkeley hills 
Where wild, sweet grasses grow. 

The laughing trail into the hills, 

Beneath the branching oaks, 
Where shadow hides and sunlight seeks ; 

Where golden sunlight soaks 
The golden earth through languid hours. 

The lazy, laughing trail 
Which winds away into the hills 

Past cliff and grassy swale — 
The trail into the Berkeley hills, 
The smiling hills, the Berkeley hills: 
The rounding hills of silvery blue 

Beneath the white cloud-sails. 

The day has flown and twilight comes 

A-down the Berkeley hills ; 
The lavender and purple now 

Each narrow canyon fills. 
From chaparral comes call of quail, 

Where safe the brood is hiding, 
And down the trail from Berkeley hills 

Reluctant I am striding. 

The trail from out the Berkeley hills, 
The dusk-dim hills, the Berkeley hills 
And o'er the swelling tops of them 

The thin new moon is riding. 





^! U1 1 1I ! I1III» 1 

Page 73 



HILL TRAILS 




Hushabye Sea 



Soft breezes blowing, and low in the west 
The red glow is fading — my little one, rest ! 
Rest while the stars twinkle soft in the sky 
And the great golden moon slips so silently 
by. 
Wee little feet are so weary with play — 
Rest in my arms, dear, and we'll sail away : 

Lullaby Boat on the Hushabye Sea, 
A white-petaled rose, dear, our swift sail 
shall be; 
A moonbeam of gold, dear, we'll use for a 

mast, 
And then, dear, to Dreamland we'll sail on 

so fast — 
In our island of Dreamland we'll rest, dear, 
at last. 

Pink are the clouds that float high in the east. 
The murmur of waves on the shore, dear, has 
ceased. 
Back to the Dayland, the playland, we'll go ; 
The bright sun will greet us so gladly, I 
know. 
Wee little lady, all rested from sleep! 
Close in my arms, dear, my treasure I'll 
keep. 



— — 



Page 74 




Rockabye waves swing us swiftly along; 
Sweet winds of morning shall blow clean and 
strong. 
White-breasted sea-gulls our sailors shall 

be— 
In our Lullabye Boat, dear, on Hushabye 

Sea, 
Come sail back to daddy, in Dayland, with 
me. 



The Measure 

Wherewith shall life's success be gauged ? 
By wealth of golden garnering, 
Or honors, heaped, that years may bring? 

Or by the struggle, bravely waged, 
Against besetting foe's demand? 

Or shall our measure of life's good 
Be factories or spreading land 
Where men shall toil at our command 

To earn their modest livelihood? 

Not so. God measures life's success 
By what we give of happiness. 







wniiinii ii i i i i mniM - . «mrt 



Page 75 



HILL TRAILS 



Mother of Mine 

At quiet eve with all the day's work done 

I sit within my casement wide 
And watch the glory of the setting sun. 

Then mem'ry hearkens through the years, 
I'm carried back again to boyhood's days ; 

My mother greets me at the door, 
Upon my head again her hand she lays ; 

Above me bends her dear, sweet face. 

I tell again the day's adventures o'er, 

Recount to her the paths I've trod, 
The hills I've climbed, the tales of woodland 
lore, 

Of bird and flower and new-made friends: 
The shimmering trout within the stream — 

The robin's nest, its dainty eggs — 
The old sawmill with sunken roof and beam — 

I tell the day's adventures o'er. 

Within her heart I never shall grow old ; 

The boy I was I'll always be. 
And to my mother tales I'll still unfold 

Of day's adventures, problems met. 
Within her heart I'll solace find ; 

Her loving smile and tenderness of hand 
Will soothe the wearied breast and mind. 

Within her heart I'm still her boy. 




Page 76 




AND OPEN SKY 






* 






Mother of mine, dear Mother of Mine, 
Your hair is as white as the wind-driven snow, 
But the smile on your face is as sweet as the rose: 
You are young in my heart, and — Ah, Mother — / 

know 
That your love will be mine 'til the last long repose — 
Dear Mother of Mine! Dear Mother of Mine! 



Sin the Beggar 

Sin is a beggar old, and whining; 
Living on what we give, reclining 

On couches that we careless yield 
To his own measure. And he gives 
No place or thing. And yet Sin lives. 




Page 11 






Telegraph Hill 

Up-thrust above the busy tide 

Of teeming bay and echoing street, 
Whose waves against her rough cliffs 
beat — 
Neglected, thrust contemned aside 
She stands. 

Beneath the trees which guard her crest 
The ragged streets, wind-swept and steep 
Where crowding children laugh and leap, 

Hold many a strange, unbidden guest 
From other lands. 

Dingy the streets and drab the walls, 
But gay the sparkling, green-blue sea, 
And sweet the winds which blow to me 

Beneath the trees whose shadow falls 
A-thwart the sod. 






My thoughts sail out as passing ships 
And seek strange shores beyond the gates 
Where romance calls and treasure waits 

Of languorous hours, whose honey drips 
In fragrant flood. 

Below, the crowded streets, the din 
Where clattering carts make clamorous 

sound 
Upon their same, unvaried round: 
But here, harmonic, flooding in, 
The peace of God. 



Page 78 




My Creed 



And this my creed: To live this day 

Today alone. 

To live each golden hour through, 

To hold each precious moment true 

And all my own — 

To do with each the best I may. 

To keep no record of the past ; 

To hold no grief 

Or sorrow that the past has brought, 

Or evil thing that has been wrought 

In my belief ; 

For things of evil cannot last. 

To fear tomorrow not at all, 

With what it bring. 

Each morrow, coming, is today ; 

Each morrow brings its own supply alway. 

No sorrows cling 

Or evil happen-stance befall. 

Then this my creed : This day alone, 

And now, I live. 

Of love and friends and joy to me 

Are given for mine this day, these three ; 

And these I give : 

Joy, friendship, love — I give and own. 






iiiiini i i i iiHiHmnm 



Page 79 



n-fcXA H i iinmni ii i iii ii 




They Shall Say 

When they shall say of me, "He lies beneath 
the trees, 
There where the golden, wind-blown daisies 
grieving nod." 
Or they shall say of me, "The passing April 
breeze, 
The flowers, must miss him silent there be- 
neath the sod." 

"And birds, and all the shy and wilder things 
of earth 
Must grieve for him who loved them so. He 
rests so deep 
Nor heeds the waking of the world to spring- 
time birth. 
He lies alone beneath the blossoming sod, 
asleep." 

Then I shall laugh, and they shall hear it as a 
song 
From throbbing bird-throat high among 
the tree-tops tall, 
Or as the joyous breezes blowing free along — 
Then I shall laugh — for lo ! I'll not be there 
at all! 




^tiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiliaiiiiiiaiiiiiiiiiiiliiiJLiijiiJijLiAtiilJJii* 



AND OPEN SKY 



But in the fields where bees shall seek the 
blooming clover, 
And in the meadows fair where gentle cat- 
tle graze — 
Among the tree-tops where the birds are fly- 
ing over 
And spilling song, half -heard, from out the 
azure haze, 

Or on the singing shore where flecks of foam 
are flying 
I'll joyous dance, and joyous to the wild 
wind call: 
Tis odd to hear these folk speak so of 
dying — 
Why, I still shall live! I'll not sleep there 
at all! 



Between the Lines 

Many a bit of verse I write, and fair 
They be or not — I little care, 
For written 'twixt the lines she finds 
A fairer bit of verse than mine; 
Those words which speak the heart of me, 
Writ there for her alone to see. 






iiimi mninu iu Htw « » i » C T r 

Page 81 



« * * * » &*. 



munitj 



r 



HILL TRAILS 



Forgotten 

The dead remember — 

Those living whom we call the dead — 

Remember, and forget. 

Remember all the love we gave; 

The little things we did 

For love of them; 

The smiles; 

The loving words. 

Remember all the good of us, 

The rest forget. 

Forgotten now the words we gave 

Which hurt. The selfish things 

We did for love of self. 

The kindly things we might have done 

But failed to do. 

And now they know 

The love we gave, 

And give. 

They do not know, 

Nor care to know, 

The bitter grief we feel, 

The fierce and vain regret. 

The dead remember — 

Those living whom we call the dead — 

Remember, and forget. 

But we remember, 

Nor can we, remembering, 

Forget. 






Mr miiinTi 1 ! 



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mumm^mmmutnMM»*JJULMJLMJLMJUUUUi*MB*MMt 



AND OPEN SKY 



The Miser 

I have a secret place wherein I store 

My treasures all. A miser, I, who keeps 
Each precious gem, who counts them o'er and 
o'er 
And fondles them. I guard the shining 
heaps 
As ne'er a miser yet has guarded dear 
His jewels and his yellow gold. 

These are my jewels: Each kind word and 

thought, 
Each loving smile which through the years 

to me 
The years have given. The loving friends 

they've brought 
From God's own heaven that here my 

heaven might be. 
I guard them well. It seems as though I 

fear 
That Time may steal, for Time is bold. 

Yet friends whom God has given, each word 

and smile, 
No thief may steal — if I but watch the while ! 




nhnrtf tiiii tf 'i 
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» » »*> » »«»»» ■> ■■« > » »■ ■. » »«»»> >>■■ >■ # ■aa«a»a» f «« m i i | 



HILL TRAILS 



Bells Three 

I builded a castle in the air — 
I builded a castle wondrous fair, 
With turret and tower and gate and wall 
And jeweled windows in palace hall. 

And swung in the tower that lifted high, 

High up on the crags where eagles fly, 

I hung brave bells, and these bells were 

three ; 
Three chiming bells marked the hours for me. 

One bell was of silver; sweet was its chime 
As it rang through the dusk of the eventime. 
"Hope" was its message, and "Hope" was its 

name, 
And this was the cherished thought which 

came. 

And one was of brass with a brazen note 
Clanging steadfast from its brazen throat, 
Bringing its message of Faith to me — 
And Faith and Hope rang in harmony! 

The third was of gold, and pure and deep 
Was the echoed gold from the high cliffs 

steep. 
"Love" was the song of my golden bell 
As its liquid music rose and fell. 

Ruined the castle, and broken the wall; 
Shattered the glass of the palace hall — 
But my bells still ring their song divine; 
Hope, Faith and Love at their best are mine. 



rrrrmrtT" . t i imt 






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<iii»ij«,naia««ai«a«aK**iaj,aaja*aaa««,iMi««««nwijia.B«,«««iiB*»»iLp 






AND OPEN SKY 



Home! Come Home! 

Out of the toss of the seas of the north, 
Where the gray skies lower and lead tides 

run — 
Out from the seas where our task is done, 
With cleaving prow we are speeding forth. 
Sullen the seas that we leave behind — 
Ice of the foam on the frozen wind ! — 
Where the day brings forth what the night 
has spun 
Of the web of war — Now it's, "Home! 
Come home!" 

Weary the days where the grim fog clung, 
Where the fog clung low on a weary sea 
Littered and spread with the drear debris 

That shells have shattered and waves have 
flung; 
Tired of the surge of that shoreless deep, 
Of the broken billows' ceaseless sweep, 

We answer the summons which sets us free, 
The welcome call, and it's, "Home! Come 
home !" 

Home to the bay where the sunny skies 
Smile down to the laughing seas below, 
As blue as the blue of the hills that grow 

To the long, slow sweep of the mountain's rise. 
Home to the heart of the western shore — 
Oh ! There's gloom behind but there's sun 
before ! 

The foam flings white as the storm-sped snow 
As we answer your calling, "Home ! Come 
home !" 



ntT ii f ii i H i itii i ni n iiHu i miiiiim r 



Page 85 






i.ftJLUJU 






■,»■■■,«,] 






HILL TRAIL 



Sleeping 

The summer sun has shone softly, 

And softly the wind has blown 
O'er these grass-grown mounds on the hill- 
top 

Where the stones are fallen and prone. 
The summer grasses are tangled, 

But — fragrant and warm and sweet — 
They have covered the mounds on the hill-top 

With their sun-enwoven sheet. 



The flowing waters have glinted 

All through the warm, sweet days 
Where they rippling flowed on the shallows 

In a hundred devious ways. 
And the birds have sung soft in the branches 

Above the low mounds on the hill, 
Where the friends of the valley are sleeping 

As still as the winds are still,. 




Asleep on their quiet hill-top, 

Where the oaks and the birches grow, 
While the summer sunshine softens 

To the gold of the twilight glow; 
And the silver and green of the poplars 

Blends dim with the dim wood's night ; 
Like the shimmering gleam of the star-shine 
Is the firefly's flickering flight. 






1 



AND OPEN SKY 



But I think they dream of the flowers 

And the gleam of the birches white, 
And hear in their dreams the bird-songs, 

The lyrical, sweet "Good night!" 
Of the thrush in the hazel-brush thicket 

Beneath the round rim of the moon; 
And see 'cross the marsh in the valley 

The blundering flight of the loon. 



They sleep on their quiet hill-top 

As still as the winds are still ; 
The thrush in the hazel is silent, 

And silent the song of the rill. 
The friends of the valley are sleeping 

Where the birch and the poplar grow — 
Tread light o'er the dew-wet grasses, 

For their dreams are sweet, I know! 







Page 87 



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HILL TRAILS 






Warren D. Parker 



AUGUST 23, 1919 






The sculptor who, from dull and lifeless clay 
His vision brings to life that we may see — 
Who by his deft hand's shaping cunningly 
Gives form to that which in his lone mind 

lay — 
The artisan who, patient, day by day 
Brings forth the hidden beauty, tenderly, 
With utmost care, that there shall be 
The perfect form that he has dreamed this 

way. 

In clay the sculptor works: More glorious 

thou 
Who moulded men; who took the unformed 

mind 
And made it, shaped it, visioning perfect, 

fair, 
The high ideal toward which thou madest it 

grow. 

The master teacher, thou, who left behind 
Thine own ideal, a pattern perfect, rare. 



Page 88 



- 















AND OPEN SKY 



Arden 

Now Arden hills are brown, are brown, 

And Arden hills are low, 
And o'er the long, bare slopes of them 

The salt bay breezes blow. 

And Arden hills are long with grass, 
Browned by the summer sun ; 

There — blown by winds that sweep across- 
The rippling shadows run. 

Oh, Arden hills are brown and bare — 

But I have dreamed a dream 
Of flowered slope and forest clad, 

Of lake and running stream, 

Where Arden hills as symbols stand. 

And men shall say, "He seemed 
A dreamer, yet now lives 

The structure that he dreamed !" 

TO AUGUST SCHILLING, 
BUILDER. 




3 'mnn 

Page 89 







Lullaby-O, By-0 Babe 

When all the little birds have gone to rest 
An' night win's whispeh soft an' low; 

When red an' gold am glowin' in the west, 
Then mammy holds her baby lovin', so, 

An' sings to him this lullaby, 

Lullaby-o, sleepy boy-o, lullaby : 

"Silvah moon am sailin' low, 

By-o babe, mah babe; 
Off to slumbah Ian' yoh go, 

By-o babe, mah babe. 
Baby dreams will come to yo', 
Keep yoh happy long night through 
Whilst yoh mammy watches yo', 

By-o babe, mah babe." 

The rivah's lappin' soft upon the shore, 
Shy whip-po'-will am callin' sweet. 

While star-gleams come a-peepin' more an' 
more, 
OF mammy cuddles warm the little feet 

An' sings to him this lullaby, 

Lullaby-o, sleepy boy-o, lullaby: 

"Silvah moon am sailin' high, 

By-o babe, mah babe. 
Slumbah Ian' am comin' nigh, 

By-o babe, mah babe. 
Happy dreams am comin' fast, 
Drowsy eyes am closed at last, 
All the troubled day am past, 

By-o babe, mah babe." 



■ n fi inii i tmi t gtummim iii inf i t 



Page 90 



AND OPEN SKY 



The Sea-Gulls' Parade 

The sea-gulls march along the beach 

And seem like soldiers on parade, 
So proud and straight and haughty, each ; 
Their feathers white are shining laid, 
And wings of gray are held just so 
As up and down the beach they go. 

I watch them as they pass me by, 

And nod to me, and strut and prance. 
I think perhaps they wonder why , 
I do not join them in their dance: 
I'd get my feet too wet, I fear; 
I'd rather watch them from up here. 

And yet, I'd like to smoothly fly 

As sea-gulls do, and cross the bay 
About the ferryboats which ply 

From side to side all through the day — 
But when 'twas night, I think I'd be 
Far happier on daddy's knee. 



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4JUUUUL* .1II1.1I IIIH..I j 




Portsmouth Square 

THE STEVENSON MONUMENT 

Across the waves of bronze she beats; 
With lusty prow their thrust she meets. 

Her swelling sails with steady urge 
The galleon bears against the surge. 

With precious cargo in her hold, 
Filled to the brim with Memory's gold, 

Steadfast she holds her charted way. 
The stars by night, the sun by day, * 

No truer to their course than she — 
The Memory ship which holds for me 

His spirit gentle. All serene 

She sails amidst the blossoming green. 




: , | 



Page 92 







AND OPEN SKY 



Spring Incense 

The fragrance of smoke at twilight; 

The rustle of raking leaves ; 
The glow of the burning bonfires 

Taking toll of Winter's sheaves. 

A sense of springing grasses 

From the breast of the waking earth ; 

The bursting of buds on the basswoods 
In the coming of Spring's new birth. 

The sleepy chirp of a robin ; 

The laughter of children at play 
In the deepening blue of the twilight ; 

The turning of blue to gray. 

The patter of feet on the sidewalks ; 

The neighborly echoed, "Good nights!" 
The soft closing doors and windows ; 

The going out of the lights. 

And down through the hushed, dim silence 

The gleam of a guarding star. 
The bonfire's incensed odors 
Wreathe slow through the night afar. 








m 




Page 93 







HILL TRAILS 



Dawn 

Just in the glint o' the morning 

When the fairies cease their play ; 
Just at the gleam of the dawning 

When fays and elves flee away — 
When the silver mists on the meadow 

Hover and float and sway — 
Angels brought a wee babe from heaven 

And they called her "Dawn o' the Day." 

"Dawn o' the Day/' they called her, 

Because of the happiness wrought; 
"Dawn o' the Day," they called her, 

Because of the message brought. 
Happiness, peace and sunshine, 

The glory of God's thought— 
The world is brighter and sweeter 

For the lesson that she taught. 




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LUL&JJ 




AND OPEN SKY 



Dressed Up 

I put on mother's great, big hat 
And dressed up in her gown, 

Then on the lawn, beneath the trees, 
Went p'rading up and down. 



A shiny blackbird cocked his head 
An' winked his eye at me — 

Then he went strutting to an' fro, 
An' acting just like me! 



I never felt so mortified! — 

For I had never heard 
That a rude, bold blackbird sometimes, too, 

Is a saucy mocking bird. 



wm 



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Page 95 



mam 



HHIII II IHH 



* rr* 















HILL TRAILS 



Overseas 



Dear girl of mine, I wonder if you know 
That through the long night hours my 

thoughts of you 
Are my companions, ever staunch and true 
As you are true to me. You love me so 
That I am brave. What matter who my foe ; 
You are my helm, my shield, my armor 

bright. 
You give me courage, strength, the will to 
fight, 
Nor yield, nor bend, no matter what the blow. 

Dear girl of mine, this is a wondrous thing 
That you should guard me, even overseas ; 

That half across the stricken world you bring 
The comfort of your presence, and the ease 

That comes of faith and trust. I hear you 
sing: 
I rest : I lay my head upon your knees. 







Page 96 







AND OPEN SKY 



■ 



Christ Walks with Me 

Christ walks with me across the shell-swept 
fields : 
Bare is His head and empty are his hands. 
Unarmed is He, yet unafraid He stands 
And unafraid am I amid the strife, 
For this I know : Christ is my shield and life. 
Unarmed is He, and yet a power wields 
Which turns aside the sword. No foe may 
harm 
With whom Christ walks. And now thrice 

armed am I: 
All evil forces harmless pass me by. 

With Christ as shield I know I am secure. 
He is my sword, a flaming weapon bright 
Which wins the strife and sweeps away the 
night, 
Which cleans the world of all that is im- 
pure. 
Christ walks with me. With Him I shall 
endure. 










*vtf 



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Ma»**»*»»j **■*■*■• ft** **»*»»*a*a»iitt*«tt»M»"'»»*»lll'*«**''»»f'»l'Mi, 



IE 



HILL TRAILS 



Into the West 

Out through the Gate to the end of my quest ; 
Ebbing of tide and strong swell of the 

surge, 
Frost of the foam where the black rocks 
emerge, 
Ceaselessly telling of earth's vast unrest: 
Into the heart of the crimsoning west. 

Mine is a calm and a peace all serene, 
Leaving the toil and the fray far behind ; 
Struggling no more with the storm and the 
wind, 
Into the mist of the future, unseen: 
Heart of the world in the salt wind grown 
clean. 



Much has been mine in the years long gone 
by; 
Friends I have had and the world's fond 

acclaim ; 
Laughter of love and flicker of flame ; 
Treasure of tears in a timorous eye ; 
Fragrance of flowers ; the breath of a sigh. 



««> ■ » ■ ■ ■■ »■■ ■ » '» ■ 



Page 98 



H MHiiiinm i M""""" 1 """""" 1 """"" 1111 ^ 



AND OPEN SKY 



Much has been mine in the days that are old ; 
Much have I known of the good and the 

bad. 
Desires that are dead as the things I have 
had, 
Days that are ashes and flames that are cold ; 
Not to me now shall the dead days unfold. 

Fate has been kind as my measure she 
poured. 
Much has been mine and now more there 

shall be; 
Peace of the ages, profound as the sea; 
Balm of the bliss that for me has been stored, 
Recompense sweet for the years I've endured. 

Out through the Gate to the end of my quest ; 

This is the end of the seeking and strife ; 

This is my birth to the splendor of life ; 
This is the winning of all that is best, 
Here in the heart of the crimsoning west. 









SJM t M^r t iT t ¥lTirri iit*iti iT i iii t iii ii i iiii it ii» » « » *'»^^" 

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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

Wllllllllllllllllllllllfl 

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